What We Need Is Here

Today, as I was working in our yard it began to snow. It started very slowly, a thin, ghost like flurry that I'd catch out of the corner of my eye. It continued at this pace for nearly two hours. I probably wouldn't have even noticed if I'd been inside. And then, all of a sudden it started to really snow. Large soap sud-like flakes fluttered down at increasing speeds. This made me indescribably happy. This is why I need to work outside. 

Looking out a window I never would have noticed the start, the change in air pressure, the smell. I wouldn't have felt the snow landing on my skin, or seen how beautiful the fresh flakes looked as they landed on the rich, black pile of compost I was moving. This experience reminded me of the beauty of the world beyond the doors that we often take for granted. It also reminded me of this work by one of my favorite poets, Wendell Berry.

What We Need Is Here

Geese appear high over us,

pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,

as in love or sleep, holds

them to their way, clear

in the ancient faith: what we need

is here. And we pray, not

for new earth or heaven, but to be

quiet in heart, and in eye,

clear. What we need is here. 

(This post was written on 3/16 for later publication.)